Opening of an SF short story (998 words)

[cyberpunkdreams]

Hi there,

This is just the opening of a cyberpunk short story I've started writing. I've literally just banged this out over the last hour or so. It's set in a consistent universe I've got. I reckon it'll be about 3,000 words in total (so short short!) I've got the ending as well, but am currently missing the middle.

Anyway, thanks in advance if you'd care to comment!

--------
DENNY AND ME

Rain slicked off the back of Denny’s coat like, well, like rain does. We were waiting by an old slipway, the one we always used. Dirty concrete. Night. The smell of the river was almost too much to bear, unless you were used to it. We were used to it. And, yeah, it was raining. We were used to that too.

This whole run had started, started only to end up here, with that call from BabyO. Not that this was the end. More of a beginning, really. But we were knee deep by then. BabyO had called in a favour. Had to, really. And we were go-to.

He’d called me late, Friday, and I hadn’t been out partying for a change. BabyO calls himself Baby Zero, but everyone else calls him BabyO. As in “Baby-Oh”. He hates it, but that doesn’t matter now.

“Kaylee,” he says, and I knew it was trouble. Trouble, or a job. Maybe both. Probably both. Denny and me, we’re just runners, really. A little B’n’E, moving product, nothing heavy. You get a nose for the heavy stuff, and you stay well clear. As clear as you can, anyhow. And this smelled heavy, for all it was so-so. You just get the nose, you know?

So there we were, waiting in the rain and the stink from the river, waiting for a deebee. Drone barge. So it’s all ordinary, all every day, right now, but this is the night that Denny dies. He doesn’t know it yet, needless. And I say he dies, but I don’t know that for sure. Seems likely. He got busted up pretty bad, and I reckon he’d have found me by now, if he was still moving.

But this beedee, this is where it all kicks off. Freight, coming up from the big algae and plankton farms and other sh*t way down south. Go back the other way filled with human sh*t, mostly. Cinci’s gotta eat, right? So sh*t goes one way and we get textured algae coming back the other. And this is good for us, Denny and me, because the barges are fully automated. No security. No one’s gonna pinch bales that are worth sweet f*ck all, and it’s just too big to steal the lot. It’s good for us because of smuggling. Someone slips a package on when it’s loaded, we slip it off again well before it’s unloaded. So this is here and now.

Denny’s job is to work the boat. I’m the look-out, mostly. He slips out, silent, dark on the water. Use this place cause it’s far enough away from Cinci proper, so it’s dark, real dark, and that’s what we need. I’m rambling, because I know what’s coming, see?

Denny’s out on the water, and I can only see him because I know where to look, and good eyes. The barge just keeps coming, upriver, slow. Running lights. It’s so ****ing battered that it don’t matter if you scrape the hull with the boat or if your grapple leaves a scar on the railing, that’s what Denny says. But still, best to be quiet, so Denny says, cause you never know. The ol’ Ohio’s like an oil slick, and smells twice as bad. Glad it’s him out there, not me.

I see Denny’s grappled go up and over the side. It’s plastic-coated, makes less noise, and Denny’s got a good swing, so he doesn’t need to use a gun. He climbs up real quick, and that’s when my bad feeling starts to get worse. I can’t say why; never could. This whole deal is so everyday it almost hurts. But something was just off, y’know? Like it just didn’t sit right.

So I decided to call it. Snaps, just like that. Denny could spend a half hour searching that big jolly thing for our package, then another half hour floating back downstream while I stood waiting cold-assed in the rain. And I wanted him out now. Turns out I was right to call it. But right then? I dunno. Just don’t know.

I sent him the text, a code, that says right now, not kidding. Second call is the flare gun, last resort, really, but I don’t need it. Denny comes right back, then I see him slide over the rail, back into the boat. Tricky that. You don’t wanna fall in. You really don’t.

So this is happening right now. They let Denny get back to the slipway, haul up the boat and turn it over. We stashed our gear, like always. Denny just looked at me, and I shook my head. He trusted my instincts; that’s the point. They let us get back on the bike and get started out before they jumped us. I still can’t figure that – why wait and not just do us while we were still stashing our stuff? But anyway, it happened like it happened.

Denny kicked the bike into life. It’s just a dirt bike, something we could afford to run until we got something better. I didn’t register the first shots until after. Adrenalin does that to you, or something. I just knew that suddenly Denny had it kicked as hard as it would go, my arms were wrapped around him in a ****ing bear hold, and we had lights behind us.

Think. I started to think. My first thought was my spray’n’pray, under my jacket, digging into my ribs. Bought and oiled for just a time like this. ****ing useless. Not built for two, this bike, even at the best of times. Letting go of Denny to pull it out – that was never gonna happen. It’s an ill feeling, realising that there’s nothing you can do. Just a passenger. Just a rider. Denny’s moves were sick, and all I could do was lean with him, lean into those moves, my new leather pants ripping to shreds at the knee. All I could do right then was hang on and pray.

--------

 

[Victoria Silverwolf]

This is just the opening of a cyberpunk short story I've started writing. I've literally just banged this out over the last hour or so. It's set in a consistent universe I've got. I reckon it'll be about 3,000 words in total (so short short!) I've got the ending as well, but am currently missing the middle.

DENNY AND ME

Rain slicked off the back of Denny’s coat like, well, like rain does.

This really took me out of the story. It sounds likes you're poking fun at an author who can't come up with a simile. Since the tone of this story isn't comedy, it's out of place. Just stop at "coat" or come up with an appropriate simile ("like a filthy waterfall" or something to convey to mood.)

We were waiting by an old slipway, the one we always used. Dirty concrete. Night. The smell of the river was almost too much to bear, unless you were used to it. We were used to it. And, yeah, it was raining. We were used to that too.

Good sensory detail, good use of sentence fragments. I think the end of this paragraph is a bit too much. I would stop at "We were used to it" or even earlier.

This whole run had started, started only to end up here, with that call from BabyO. Not that this was the end. More of a beginning, really. But we were knee deep by then. BabyO had called in a favour. Had to, really. And we were go-to.

Good transition into the flashback, in general, but there are some things that are awkward here. The repeated "started" for one thing. Also, the ambiguity of whether this is "end" or "beginning" didn't sit right with me for some reason. Maybe just "This whole run had started with the call from BabyO. He had called in a favor. Had to, really. And we were go-to." I do like the fact that we now wonder why BabyO had to call in the favor. (And excuse my American spellings.)

He’d called me late, Friday, and I hadn’t been out partying for a change. BabyO calls himself Baby Zero, but everyone else calls him BabyO. As in “Baby-Oh”. He hates it, but that doesn’t matter now.

“Kaylee,” he says,

Even though this is appropriately informal language from your narrator, I still prefer "said" here.

and I knew it was trouble. Trouble, or a job. Maybe both. Probably both. Denny and me, we’re just runners, really. A little B’n’E, moving product, nothing heavy. You get a nose for the heavy stuff, and you stay well clear. As clear as you can, anyhow. And this smelled heavy, for all it was so-so. You just get the nose, you know?

So there we were, waiting in the rain and the stink from the river, waiting for a deebee. Drone barge.

I don't think the narrator would stop to explain his own slang. Use one or the other, not both.

So it’s all ordinary, all everyday, right now, but this is the night that Denny dies. He doesn’t know it yet, needless. And I say he dies, but I don’t know that for sure. Seems likely. He got busted up pretty bad, and I reckon he’d have found me by now, if he was still moving.

The first time I read this, I was extremely confused. I couldn't figure out how the narrator knew this. Now I realize that it's in hindsight. The problem with this is not only that's it's confusing, but it seems to foreshadow too much. Maybe just a hint. "We didn't know it yet, but things were about to go very badly wrong." Just a tiny hint to the reader to expect something to happen.

But this beedee,

I guess you mean "deebee" again?

this is where it all kicks off. Freight, coming up from the big algae and plankton farms and other sh*t way down south. Go back the other way filled with human sh*t, mostly. Cinci’s gotta eat, right? So sh*t goes one way and we get textured algae coming back the other. And this is good for us, Denny and me, because the barges are fully automated. No security. No one’s gonna pinch bales that are worth sweet f*ck all, and it’s just too big to steal the lot. It’s good for us because of smuggling. Someone slips a package on when it’s loaded, we slip it off again well before it’s unloaded. So this is here and now.

Good exposition here, good narrative voice.

Denny’s job is to work the boat. I’m the look-out, mostly. He slips out, silent, dark on the water. Use this place cause it’s far enough away from Cinci proper, so it’s dark, real dark, and that’s what we need. I’m rambling, because I know what’s coming, see?

Last sentence is again confusing and foreshadows too much. maybe just something like "I felt nervous, like something bad was coming."

I wouldn't change tense here but would stick to past tense.

Denny’s out on the water, and I can only see him because I know where to look, and good eyes. The barge just keeps coming, upriver, slow. Running lights. It’s so ****ing battered that it don’t matter if you scrape the hull with the boat or if your grapple leaves a scar on the railing, that’s what Denny says. But still, best to be quiet, so Denny says, cause you never know. The ol’ Ohio’s like an oil slick, and smells twice as bad. Glad it’s him out there, not me.

I see Denny’s grapple go up and over the side. It’s plastic-coated, makes less noise, and Denny’s got a good swing, so he doesn’t need to use a gun. He climbs up real quick, and that’s when my bad feeling starts to get worse. I can’t say why; never could. This whole deal is so everyday it almost hurts. But something was just off, y’know? Like it just didn’t sit right.

Good stuff here. The last couple of sentences are the kind of very subtle foreshadowing I was talking about, and this particular example may be all you need.

So I decided to call it. Snaps, just like that. Denny could spend a half hour searching that big jolly thing for our package, then another half hour floating back downstream while I stood waiting cold-assed in the rain. And I wanted him out now. Turns out I was right to call it. But right then? I dunno. Just don’t know.

I sent him the text, a code, that says right now, not kidding. Second call is the flare gun, last resort, really, but I don’t need it. Denny comes right back, then I see him slide over the rail, back into the boat. Tricky that. You don’t wanna fall in. You really don’t.

So this is happening right now.

That sentence confused me too, and doesn't seem to add anything

They let Denny get back to the slipway, haul up the boat and turn it over. We stashed our gear, like always. Denny just looked at me, and I shook my head. He trusted my instincts; that’s the point. They let us get back on the bike and get started out before they jumped us. I still can’t figure that – why wait and not just do us while we were still stashing our stuff? But anyway, it happened like it happened.

Denny kicked the bike into life. It’s just a dirt bike, something we could afford to run until we got something better. I didn’t register the first shots until after. Adrenalin does that to you, or something. I just knew that suddenly Denny had it kicked as hard as it would go, my arms were wrapped around him in a ****ing bear hold, and we had lights behind us.

Think. I started to think. My first thought was my spray’n’pray, under my jacket, digging into my ribs. Bought and oiled for just a time like this. ****ing useless. Not built for two, this bike, even at the best of times. Letting go of Denny to pull it out – that was never gonna happen. It’s an ill feeling, realising that there’s nothing you can do. Just a passenger. Just a rider. Denny’s moves were sick, and all I could do was lean with him, lean into those moves, my new leather pants ripping to shreds at the knee. All I could do right then was hang on and pray.

--------

Good action sequence at the end.

Overall, this is very good for an hour's work. Good narrative voice, interesting situation, very realistic and convincing.

 

[J Riff]

Yup, the glib, wisecracking first-person MC is hard to maintain, innit? But, this is a good drafty thing. Short, terse sentences? Hold off as much as possible for max effect. Maybe. Not bag atoll for draftage.

 

[Brian G Turner]

Thought there was a great use of use in this, which created an excellent sense of atmosphere and setting.

However, I wonder if you could maybe focus a little more on the immediacy? You keep distracting into little digressions which kick us out from it, ie:

So this is happening right now.

Additionally, the following paragraph through me completely because of the way you use present tense to talk about both the past and future:

So there we were, waiting in the rain and the stink from the river, waiting for a deebee. Drone barge. So it’s all ordinary, all every day, right now, but this is the night that Denny dies. He doesn’t know it yet, needless. And I say he dies, but I don’t know that for sure. Seems likely. He got busted up pretty bad, and I reckon he’d have found me by now, if he was still moving.

I know you're aiming at some tension through foreshadowing - but IMO if you keep with your immediacy, then the tension should be there naturally, and the question of what happens to Denny will unfold as the story progresses. Because what we get at the climax is that a) we've already been told something of what happens, and b) your narrator seems confused about what actually happens in the moment (ie, not hearing the shots). So what should be a crescendo kinda feels like it fizzled out into confusion and lacked the tension it should have, IMO.

However, I think you've got a great piece here, and I'm not sure if my feedback is really technical rather than creative. Which is a positive sign.

 

[tinkerdan]

This is pretty good and for all that I know you might have it all technically (grammatically) correct. But therein lies the problem I have with most of the Punks that require an understanding of future lingo and slang. There are parts where verbs, adverbs, pronouns and adjectives mysteriously and silently die and that compounds another issue, which is whether to go with present tense or past tense or abide the notion that there are some legitimate changes that allow that to be fluid.

This is first person from Kaylee; no doubt of that and it's deeply rooted into Kaylee for narration. And sometimes Kaylee comes close to breaking the forth wall. I don't mind the wall breaking when it's done well, though that includes having it move the story forward in a good way.


This is also mostly past tense-ish with emphasis on ish. There are times that slip right into present tense and I could almost abide those in parts of the narrative, but then we slip back to past and then skip some adverbs and verbs and suddenly there's uncertainty over which tense is meant.

There is one occasion where a paragraph ends with 'this is now'. And then the next paragraphs start out present tense and suddenly drift back to past tense and then the forth wall stuff jumps in to just confuse things and it becomes difficult to understand if it's mean for this character to be so uncertain of past and present that they keep reminding their-self and the reader that this is now; because that happens a few times.

This next part,the quote, is what I'd call a throwaway; because it gives away too much and I think it's only done to add some missing drama to the piece.::

So there we were, waiting in the rain and the stink from the river, waiting for a deebee. Drone barge. So it’s all ordinary, all every day, right now, but this is the night that Denny dies. He doesn’t know it yet, needless. And I say he dies, but I don’t know that for sure. Seems likely. He got busted up pretty bad, and I reckon he’d have found me by now, if he was still moving.

::Way to much information that neither the reader or the narrator should know just now(except for that transient feeling of disjointed time in the narrator's narration). It might be better to just foreshadow this
::
So there we were, waiting in the rain and the stink from the river, waiting for a deebee. Drone barge. So it’s all ordinary, all every day, right now, but sometimes life throw a curve.
::
Then leave it at that and move on.


This next quote is too disjoint for my tastes and there is no real reason for it other than to perhaps warn the reader that this type of behavioural style is going to proliferate through the entire story.

So this is happening right now. They let Denny get back to the slipway, haul up the boat and turn it over. We stashed our gear, like always. Denny just looked at me, and I shook my head. He trusted my instincts; that’s the point. They let us get back on the bike and get started out before they jumped us. I still can’t figure that – why wait and not just do us while we were still stashing our stuff? But anyway, it happened like it happened.

Maybe
::
Denny got back to the slipway, hauled up the boat and turned it over. We stashed our gear, like always. Denny just looked at me, and I shook my head. He trusted my instincts; that’s the point. We got back on the bike. Things were good if we made it that far.

Denny kicked the bike into life. It’s just a dirt bike, something we could afford to run until we got something better. I didn’t register the first shots until after. Adrenalin does that to you, or something. I just knew that suddenly Denny had it kicked as hard as it would go, my arms were wrapped around him in a ****ing bear hold, and we had lights behind us. I couldn't figure why they'd waited and not just done us while we were still stashing our stuff? It happened like it happened.
::

If the character is meant to jape us forward in time and then back, then that probably is something that won't work well with me. But if there is some other reason for telling the reader things before they happen then it got past me.

This is just my opinion, others might like that character affectation.

 

[cyberpunkdreams]

Hey, thanks everyone for the feedback! I really appreciate it. It's also quite consistent, which probably helps . I definitely muddle my tenses, so I need to work on that. The narrator's not meant to be unreliable; she's meant to be fast and loose with her narration (hence the opening non-simile, breaking the forth wal and hindsight drop-ins). That's clearly not working though, so I'll rethink it. Likewise with the explicit foreshadowing -- I like that when it's done well, but again, it's clearly not working, so I'll chop it out.

Thought there was a great use of use in this

I wasn't quite sure what you meant by that? Or was it an predictive typing mishap?

@tinkerdan, I know what you mean by the writing as well. For me it's essential and something I'd like to push even further. I envisage this being a part of a collection though, where the reader would have enough of a chance to immerse themselves that it would become completely natural (fingers crossed!) But it can be hard to grok in a single short snippet.

 

[Brian G Turner]

I wasn't quite sure what you meant by that? Or was it an predictive typing mishap?

Apologies - yes, meant to write "tension".

 

[Michael M]

The development of the scene is gripping and the 'voice' of the main character is very effective. The moment when the main character becomes unsettled, I feel, is slightly spoiled by the previous foreshadowing. You might consider whether you would have a greater 'kick' for this posting if the main character is wet, cold and bored by the standard job for BabyO, and then he senses something is not quite right. You are then taking the reader in a new direction, and it might give the piece (which is pretty good) more edge and contrast.

I like this, and I hope we will read more soon.

Good luck

 

[cyberpunkdreams]

Thanks again! Seems as if the foreshadowing is definitely out .

And on the note of reading more, what's the etiquette for posting updates to a piece being critiqued? Add it to this thread or start a new one?

 

[Martin Robert]

Looks like a lot of good feedback. I like the story and only a couple things I could add. Somewhat skimmed the comments, so sorry if it's a repeat.

Denny could spend a half hour searching that big jolly thing for our package, then another half hour floating back downstream while I stood waiting cold-assed in the rain.

First, I can't imagine searching a massive barge in the dark would only take a half hour. If a small package is being smuggled, I would think there would be specific instructions about where it was placed. I guess unless this is some kind of double-crossing intercept mission and you don't really know, but that brings you back to the 30 min issue.

Secondly, did they actually find something? It appears that the job was called off prematurely, so I'm guessing they didn't get anything. If so, what's the motive for getting jumped?

 

[cyberpunkdreams]

Thanks for the feedback! Neither of those things had been mentioned before in fact. I think they're both easily explained though. For the first, Denny probably knows roughly where the package is -- e.g. it's in the engine compartment, or wherever. So he doesn't have to search the whole thing. For the second, there could be several motives, and the rest of the story might make it clearer . But for one, the attackers could easily think that they got the package.

 

[Martin Robert]

On the first, I think you could reword it to be a little more to the point then. Such as "locating the package at the drop spot" and/or "evading security measures" - something along those lines. Not just searching a damn big ship.

On the second...maybe, but it sounds like the job got called off about 30 seconds into it.

 

[Phyrebrat]

Hi,

I enjoyed this, especially the beginning, and I'm a sucker for a noir voice, so the style appealed to me, too. The little backstory of the algae/waste to and fro is really nicely done and interesting, and the use of the coarse language gives the character of Denny an earthy feel which seems authentic.

Some observations:

• Use of the name Denny so often. It's a little unnecessary in some places.
  
• Who is the narrator telling this to? There's a lot of familiarity, but then there are times when Kaylee explains things I would expect people to know, for example the DB.
  
• Use of fragments: Work well mostly, but I think there may be an issue using full stops instead of semis, colons or dashes. It can get a bit difficult to keep reading when there are so many stops and starts, which brings me to...
  
• The throwaway comments. I do like these mostly, but again some seem a little overcooked, and some clichéd. The bit about the river's stink being 'almost too bad to bear' is one; I think it's a great set up for the 'we were used to it' line but I think you need a stronger comparison than it just being to stinky to bear.
• I wasn't entirely sure what happened at the end as after all the setup, we seemed to be thrown out of the mission and into an escape (?) but I assume that's cleared up later as the story progresses.

Overall I would say it's got tone and a sense of time and place and I enjoyed it. Would be nice to see you post an edited/streamlined version. (for example, I think We were waiting by an old slipway, the one we always used could be changed to We were waiting by the old slipway we always used, to help tone down the choppiness, but still keep the characteristics.)

Congratulations


pH

 

[cyberpunkdreams]

On the first, I think you could reword it to be a little more to the point then. Such as "locating the package at the drop spot" and/or "evading security measures" - something along those lines. Not just searching a damn big ship.

On the second...maybe, but it sounds like the job got called off about 30 seconds into it.

I forgot to reply about this before! I'll think of something for the first bit. For the second, there are lots of explanations. Maybe these guys are incompetent and only arrived in time to see our main characters about to leave? Or maybe they're not after the package at all.

@Phyrebat: thanks for the feedback too. Definitely some good thoughts here, and I will post an updated and slightly longer version. Personally, I like the choppiness and the rhythm it creates. I appreciate that it's not to everybody's taste though, and maybe I do use it too much.

 

[The Judge]

And on the note of reading more, what's the etiquette for posting updates to a piece being critiqued? Add it to this thread or start a new one?

Sorry, didn't notice this before.

If you're putting up an amended version of the same scene, then it's fine to add it to this thread (always bearing in mind that the new version has to be under 1500 words in itself, of course). That's particularly helpful if you are following suggestions made in the thread so people can follow through from the original via the comments to the new version. On the other hand if you'd prefer to start a new thread, by all means do so and I'd recommend that if the version is drastically different, so members can assess it on its own terms, and people who haven't come into this thread can see it as a separate entity and perhaps give feedback.

If you're putting up a wholly new piece, then you can put it here if you want but only if the combined total comes to less than 1500 words ie in this case the new piece would have to be less than 500. It's usually better to put it into a new thread, though, and if it's too long, ie over the 500 words you've got left here, then it must be in a new thread. (And subject as always to the 1500 word upper limit.)

Hope that makes sense!

 

[William Arundel]

Rain slicked off the back of Denny’s coat like, well, like rain does. We were waiting by an old slipway, the one we always used. Dirty concrete. Night. The smell of the river was almost too much to bear, unless you were used to it. We were used to it. And, yeah, it was raining. We were used to that too.

I really like the first paragraph. World weary and cynical. I wanted to know a bit more about why he was like that. The second paragraph confused me a bit. Is it the beginning or the end? "But we were knee deep by then." That is the sentence I tripped over.

 

[cyberpunkdreams]

Thanks for the feedback! My attempts at foreshadowing were definitely clumsy; I'll be editing this and probably posting a revised version here today or tomorrow.

 

[cyberpunkdreams]

I've made some edits on the above and added a little more. I'm thinking this will be a little longer than I previously thought (maybe 10,000 words or so). Anyway, here goes:


Rain slicked off the back of Denny’s coat. A thin, dirty waterfall. We were waiting by the old slipway we always used. Dirty concrete. Night. The smell of the river was almost too much to bear, unless you were used to it. We were used to it. And, yeah, it was raining. We were used to that too.

This whole run had started with that call from BabyO. BabyO had called in a favour. Had to, really. And we were go-to.

He’d called me late, Friday, and I hadn’t been out partying for once. BabyO calls himself Baby Zero, but everyone else calls him BabyO. As in “Baby-Oh”. He hates it, but that doesn’t matter now.

“Kaylee,” he says, and I knew it was trouble. Trouble, or a job. Maybe both. Probably both. Denny and me, we’re just runners, really. A little B’n’E, moving product, nothing heavy. You get a nose for the heavy stuff, and you stay well clear. As clear as you can, anyhow. And this smelled heavy, for all it was so-so. You just get the nose, you know?

So there we were, waiting in the rain and the stink from the river, waiting for a deebee. So it’s all ordinary, all every day, right now. But yeah, it went bad. Only saying this now because I’m still moving. Don’t know about Denny.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. This deebee, this is where it all kicks off. Freight, coming up from the big algae and plankton farms and other sh*t way down south. Go back the other way filled with human sh*t, mostly. Cinci’s gotta eat, right? So sh*t goes one way and we get textured algae coming back the other. And this is good for us, Denny and me, because the barges are fully automated. No security. No one’s gonna pinch bales that are worth sweet f*ck all, and it’s just too big to lift the lot. It’s good for us because of smuggling. Someone slips a package on when it’s loaded, we slip it off again well before it’s unloaded.

Denny’s job is to work the boat. I’m the look-out, mostly. He slips out, silent, dark on the water. We use this place cause it’s far enough away from Cinci proper, so it’s dark, real dark, and that’s what we need.

I can only see him because I know where to look. And good eyes. The barge just keeps coming, upriver, slow. Running lights. It’s so ****ing battered that it don’t matter if you scrape the hull with the boat or if your grapple leaves a scar on the railing. That’s what Denny says. But still, best to be quiet, so he says, cause you never know. The ol’ Ohio’s like an oil slick, and smells twice as bad. Glad it’s him out there, not me.

I saw Denny’s grapple go up and over the side. It’s plastic-coated, makes less noise, and Denny’s got a good swing, so he doesn’t need to use a gun. He climbs up real quick, and that’s when my bad feeling starts to get worse. I can’t say why; never could. This whole deal is so everyday it almost hurts. But something was just off, y’know? Like it just didn’t sit right.

So I decided to call it. Something snaps inside me, just like that. Denny could spend a half hour searching the usual spots in that big jolly thing for our package, then another half hour floating back downstream while I stood waiting cold-assed in the rain. And I wanted him out now.

I sent him the text, a code, that says right now, not kidding. Second call is the flare gun, last resort, really, but I don’t need to use it. Denny comes right back, then I see him slide over the rail, back into the boat. Tricky that. You don’t wanna fall in. You really don’t.

He hauled up the boat and turned it over. Nothing happening, but I still just knew. We stashed our gear, like always. Denny looked at me, and I shook my head. He trusted my instincts; that’s the point. They let us get back on the bike and get started out before they jumped us. I still can’t figure that – why wait and not just do us while we were still stashing our stuff? But anyway, it happened like it happened.

Denny kicked the bike into life. It’s just a dirt bike, something we could afford to run until we got something better. I didn’t register the first shots at all. Adrenalin does that to you, or something. I just knew that suddenly Denny had it kicked as hard as it would go, my arms were wrapped around him in a ****ing bear hold, and we had lights behind us.

Think. I started to think. My first thought was my spray’n’pray, under my jacket, digging into my ribs, just under my left tit. Bought and oiled for just a time like this. ****ing useless. Not built for two, this bike, even at the best of times. Letting go of Denny to pull it out – that was never gonna happen. It’s an ill feeling, realising that there’s nothing you can do. Just a passenger. Just a rider. Denny’s moves were sick, and all I could do was lean with him, lean into those moves, my new leather pants ripping to shreds at the knee. All I could do right then was hang on and pray.

My next memory is blood and dirt in my mouth. Details always stick with you. Sounds stupid, but I remember panicking at having all that oil-clogged dirt in my mouth. Cancer and all that sh*t. Then the moment comes crashing back, and you’re moving, not thinking. Running on animal. Base brain. All I needed was a glimpse of Denny, face down, not moving, and that part of my brain counted him out. Gone. The bike was lying on its side, motor still turning. That saved my life, I’m pretty sure.

And for all that you’re just on adrenalin and instincts, a part of you stays detached. I’d been in the sh*t before, and it’s always the same. So here I was, leaning into the bike, leaning into moves that I’d have blown any other time, but I feel like I’m just watching. Outside it all. Already churning over what had gone down. What my next play would be.

Denny had taken a bullet, I’m sure. It just wasn’t like him to wipe out. I was swallowing my own blood. Bit my tongue bad, coming off. But there was blood on my face too – figured that for his. So Denny was gone and I was alone for the first time. The first time ever. But that wasn’t sinking in. Not yet.

It took me a while to realise that I’d lost them. Whoever they were. They must have been gunning for me, but other than those first shots and the one that killed Denny, none of it sunk in. In the movies, the hero’s always sliding around bullet spray in the mud… and yeah, there was plenty of mud, but I didn’t see no spray. It’s just not like that. I just rode. Rode, with that tiny part of my brain looking over my shoulder.


The adrenalin starts to cool off after a while. You start to wonder why you’re burning up a dirt track at suicidal speed. Start to ease off a little. Cramp sets in, calves and thighs, and you realise your arm’s all f***ed up from where you came off the bike. Fear keeps you going a little longer, but you’re forcing yourself to carry on. It’s not instinct no longer.

So I killed the motor, tipped the bike over and just stood here. Shaking. Knowing that I’d puke sooner or later. Shock. Blood. Mud. Still dark, but getting lighter. I didn’t know how long I’d be going. The rain was just coming straight down, lighter now. Quieter. I held up my hands. Could just make out my black skin against the night.

Then the vomiting, but I was glad to get that done with. Shaking’s worse afterwards, and you feel totally rinsed, but that’s the start of getting better. Trying to think, but yeah, sure, that calm, detached feeling’s long gone. Reality setting in. Denny’s gone, I’m good as dead, cold, feel like sh*t, what the f*ck happened, that’s about as useful as it got. Deep breaths, try to stay calm, wondering if I really have lost them.

The longer I stood there, the more I realised that I really had. But likewise, I knew the longer I stood there, the less chance I had to survive. So, new thoughts: hide the bike, get clean, new clothes, get back into Cinci. Get back into Evanston.

Evanston was home. I could plan from there. Make moves. But first, get back into Cinci. No way that was happening covered in blood and mud. So get clean. New clothes and no bike, cause they’d be sure to be watching the gate. Whoever they were.

 

[J Riff]

Rain slicked off the back of Denny’s coat in a thin, dirty waterfall.
That way you avoid the fragment, and we learn that Denny's coat needs cleaning.. * )

 

[cyberpunkdreams]

Rain slicked off the back of Denny’s coat in a thin, dirty waterfall.
That way you avoid the fragment, and we learn that Denny's coat needs cleaning.. * )

I like my fragments though!